Drawing Perfection
by TheWitch'sCat
Summary: A bit of a snapshot from a larger story...what it takes for Bert to finally take a risk...


**So...this is actually part of a multi-chapter crossover that I'm working on, but I really like this particular scene. I thought I'd post it as a oneshot for those who are not familiar with Wicked. If you're interested in reading the crossover, it's called The Burden of Perfection. It's crossed with Wicked. If not, enjoy anyway, and let me know what you think. :-)**

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Some three weeks later, Bert sat on one of his favorite rooftops in London, studying the stars above on an especially clear night. He'd been working as a sweep these past few weeks, preferring to spend the fall days on the rooftops. Then, it would be cleaning cellars for the coldest months of winter. It was a cycle he'd repeated many times throughout the years.

Having been orphaned at a young age, younger than he could recall, Bert had been the master of all trades since he'd been old enough to learn that begging only brought in so much money. He'd spent just enough time in the church's orphanage to decide he'd rather make his way on his own. If he couldn't have his own parents, he didn't see any need for stalwart nuns looming over him with paddling sticks. So he struck out at some point, perhaps when he was about twelve, and didn't look back.

The first winter, when he nearly starved to death, the man who shined shoes on the corner told him he best learn a trade, or he would die on the streets. It was the best gift he'd ever been given, to be told to find a purpose. So he set out to learn how to shine shoes, and then to sweep chimneys. He learned to clean cellars and patch roofs, and finally, Bert learned how to draw. Or, perhaps, he might've always known how to draw. It might've just been her that brought it out of him.

Some spring morning, when he guessed he was about twenty-three, he'd headed into the park with some discarded hearth coals and sheets for draping furniture. He'd hoped to rest for a bit before heading toward the next mess that needed cleaning. There, sitting on one of the park benches, checking her reflection in a tiny mirror, she was.

Bert would never forget the pale violet dress she'd worn, with the fitted bodice and delicate sleeves. She'd had her hat laying next to her, so she could check her perfectly pinned hair in the mirror. She was a picture, if he'd ever seen one. And so, Bert had taken some pieces of charcoal and a torn piece of his draping cloth and started to sketch her. He'd done his best, with only light and shadow to work with. Then, he'd started making a stop in the park each day, to see if she would be there. He'd even used the few extra shillings he had to purchase some good artists crayons and paper, and he sketched her. Every time she was there, seated on the bench as though she were waiting, he sketched her, trying to capture perfect if he'd ever seen it. Until the day she'd caught him.

That particular afternoon, he had been startled by a voice over his shoulder, "That's quite lovely, for someone who makes their living in the chimneys."

Bert had turned and stood face to face with her, "I hope you don't mind…you just brought it out of me, I guess."

"I suppose it's all right," she'd said, "It's to be expected, I guess. I tend to bring things out of people."

"You're the loveliest sight in the park," he'd said, and then wished he could take it back.

"Perhaps. May I take one of them with me?" she'd asked.

"Why certainly, if…if I can have your name," Bert had asked.

She'd cocked her head and answered, "Mary Poppins, if you like."

He'd handed her one of the sketches, and said, "Well, you are a perfect picture, Miss Mary Poppins."

She'd scurried away then, and the next time he'd seen her, she had children with her. And that had become their way. She brought the children to the park and turned her head while they aggravated the Park Keeper just a bit. She would chat with Bert briefly. Then, she would disappear into the trees and return with delighted and exhausted children.

It didn't take Bert long to understand that she made her living as a nanny. She came and went as the families needed her, and was never seen in between. Still, when she was there, the children loved her. They took to her quick, no-nonsense way of handling them, and she managed to be firm without being stern. She kept the children tightly reigned and demanded the best behavior, and yet they adored her. Bert would always remember the day he discovered why.

He'd followed Mary and the children to the edge of the trees in the park, hoping for the chance to chat with her once again. He'd come up behind her just as she was telling the children what might've been a story. He'd reached out to touch her at just the right moment, and he'd ended up in her magical place, as he thought of it. Mary, of course, had been quite upset. She'd pointed her finger at him and given him an earful of why he should mind his own business. Still, she'd let him stay.

From then on, an unspoken bond began to grow. She was his closest friend, his only friend, even though he knew almost nothing about her. Having had a very solitary life, he wasn't much for chatter. Still, he cherished the days when she was around, and he continued to sketch her, sometimes just from his memory. She, in turn, met him in the park with the children. She also started meeting him on the rooftops on her evenings off, and she always made his heart flutter.

Now, sitting on the roof tiles, Bert thought about her. He thought about Mary, and why he would never get over her. He was fairly certain she would never approve of his affections, but he cared for her. Whether his feelings were merely a deep, abiding friendship, or a hint at something more, he was a little afraid to contemplate. What he was sure of, though, is that he missed her terribly when she was away.

Just then, while he was lost in thought, a flicker of motion caught his eye. He turned, and there she was, hovering just over the rooftop behind him with her usual opened umbrella.

Bert smiled and said, "You're a welcome sight, Mary Poppins."

"Perhaps," she said demurely, and furled the umbrella. With easy grace, she crossed the roof and sat beside him on the edge of the gable.

"What brings you out tonight?"

She looked at her hands for a moment, and then met his eyes. In her silence, he understood. He also took notice of the well-worn bag she'd brought with her.

"So you're going then?" he asked softly.

"Yes, Bert," she replied.

"Miss Adelaide will surely miss you."

"Possibly, but her mother is well now, and she's in considerably better spirits. They have each other, now."

Bert caught the slight hint of sadness in her voice, and said, "You know they all love you, Mary, even when they don't need you anymore…"

"I know, Bert," she whispered.

There was a pause, as they both studied the sky.

"Mary," he finally spoke up, "those folks that came calling for you. The ones from your magical place…will you go look for them? Now that your job is done?"

She cocked her head, "I suppose they want me to."

"And…is that where you really come from?" Bert dared to ask.

There was a long pause before she said, "I don't know, Bert."

It was the closest thing to an honest answer she'd ever given him, and it scared him a little.

"Perhaps, while you're away this time, you might find out?" he asked hesitantly.

"Perhaps," she said.

There was another pause.

"Don't stay away too long, Mary…"

She gave him a quick glance, "We both know I have very little control over that."

"But you'll be back when the wind changes?" Bert asked, knowing very well that there was more to it than just the wind.

She gave him a quick smile, "Don't you worry yourself about me, Bert. I know my place."

She stood then, and Bert followed suit.

Standing there in the starlight, he struggled with what he wanted to say, "Mary…"

"Don't, Bert," she stopped him with a stern, yet sad expression, "Just…look after yourself."

There was a long silence, where neither one of them was exactly sure what to say. Then, just as she had so many other times, Mary leaned in to give him her customary kiss on the cheek. It was a scenario that had played out more times than Bert could count. Still, something was different this time. The appearance of these strangers, claiming to be from the magical Land of Oz, had stirred things up and made him uncertain of so many things. Never before had he been so afraid that Mary would not be coming back. And in the moment, as she leaned toward him, he felt the weight of all the things left unsaid. For all their hours spent talking, he was terrified that he would never get to say what really lurked just beneath his crooked smile and casual demeanor. So, on a sudden impulse, as she went to brush him with a kiss, Bert turned his head and caught her lips with his.

It was quite chaste, as far as kisses go. There was no sudden embrace, no pressing of their bodies into each other. In fact, her coat barely brushed his arm as they stood there. However, in the moment, it felt as though the sky was split by a crackling bolt of white-hot lightening. For them, the air radiated with a thousand prismatic colors of light and heat, as though two stars had collided. What was merely seconds felt like an eternity and, on instinct, Bert let his arm reach up behind Mary's head to touch her skin, just where the soft, tendrils of her hair brushed her neck. Just as he did so, she leapt backward, almost violently.

Bert swallowed hard, and the sheer terror on her face left him speechless. Then, in a flash, she wiped the expression away. They stood there for a moment, and Bert struggled.

"Mary…I…" he started.

She said nothing. Instead, she stepped in, and slapped him hard across the face. Then, she turned on her heel and, forgoing her usual flight, simply disappeared.

Bert stood there for some time, clutching his face. He'd never imagined it would be like that, to kiss her. As impossible as it was, he'd underestimated how strong his feelings were. And he'd also underestimated how very badly she could hurt him. So he stood there, wondering if this might be what it was like, to have a truly broken heart.


End file.
